The Gossip

by Nancy Bush

  “Angst,” Cooper said, smiling faintly.

  “Yes, angst. On late nights, I worry.”

  He started to reassure her, but she shook her head. She didn’t want promises he had no way of keeping. “Noted, about Harley,” he said instead.

  * * *

  Taft trudged up the three stone stairs to Mitch Mangella’s house with heavy footsteps. He’d worked for the man, one of River Glen’s local heroes, in a sense, for a number of years and the demise of their relationship was both sad and a relief.

  But something wasn’t right in Mudville. Taft had learned from a sometime confidential informant that Seth Keppler was moving fentanyl. How, he wasn’t sure yet. The CI didn’t know either, but even worse was learning that there was a connection to Mangella. Taft had pulled Laughlin off the Keppler surveillance because of what he’d learned, and the fact that Mangella had started asking about her. Even now, the thought sent a cold bolt of fear to Taft’s heart.

  Seth Keppler had moved from small-time dealer to the big leagues, and Mangella might be right there with him.

  The door opened and Prudence Mangella stood there, treating him to her slightly crooked and knowing smile. “Hello, Jesse. Have you finally come to take me away from all this?” She leaned her cheek in for a kiss and he managed to do the deed without giving away his dark thoughts.

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said.

  She chuckled and moved away. She was wearing a belted robe as if she were getting ready for bed though it was barely eight o’clock. Mangella himself came downstairs at that moment, striding down the blood-red carpet runner, having heard Taft arrive.

  “Brandy?” he asked, heading into the walnut bookshelf–lined den. The books were classics, displayed for the gold titles on their spines. Mangella read financial reports only.

  “Thanks, no.” Taft tried to inject just the right note of regret in his words.

  “Oh, come on, man. Loosen up. We’re celebrating.” Mangella slid the doors closed, then poured two snifters and handed one to him, touching the glasses together. The sound was a soft clink, but it reverberated in Taft’s head.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “A job well done.”

  “I haven’t done any jobs for you recently.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  Taft stared into Mangella’s dark eyes. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked. Might as well face the music, whatever it was. Let the chips fall where they may.

  Prudence slid open the doors at that moment and stuck her face in. “Why am I not invited?”

  “Because you’re a problem.” Mangella moved swiftly to gently push her out and re-closed the doors. She rattled them but knew when her man wasn’t kidding around.

  “You went to the police the other night. Your friend, Mackenzie? She was there.”

  The coldness in Taft’s heart spread throughout his chest. How did Mangella know? Bennihof? They ran in the same social circle even though Mangella had a dicey relationship with law enforcement. The man tiptoed along the edge of the law and everyone knew it.

  Richards? He was still trying to romance Pru. And get ahead in the department. It was a problem for another time.

  “That’s right,” Taft answered.

  “What were you doing there?”

  The question was casual even though he knew his answer would be examined carefully. Taft thought about it carefully. There was a hard line Taft would never cross, but Mangella didn’t share the same sense of right and wrong.

  “Ms. Laughlin believes Bibi Engstrom was killed. By her husband, maybe. Or, it might be linked to someone else, something else. Not an accident and she doesn’t think it was suicide.”

  “Ms. Laughlin was once a detective with River Glen’s finest.”

  Taft nodded. His answer had Mangella looking pensive.

  “She was following Seth Keppler,” said Mangella.

  “You know Keppler?” Taft asked. A question he would normally never pose.

  “You put her onto him.”

  The conversation was fraught with danger. Taft needed to shut it down. “Bibi Engstrom hired Laughlin to find out what happened to Rayne Sealy, the woman who died taking a selfie at the overlook. Rayne was missing and Bibi wanted to find her. She told Laughlin that Rayne’s last boyfriend was Seth Keppler.”

  “What do you know about Keppler?”

  What do you?

  “I’ve heard he’s a low-level drug dealer and I don’t like drug dealers.”

  “Oh, I know.” Mangella’s eyes thinned. “Your sister, and all that.”

  Taft’s blood started to boil. This was an area Mangella had never trespassed into in the years Taft had worked for him.

  “I don’t like drug dealers, either, you know,” he said. “I think Seth Keppler’s a problem. I’ve been interested in a partnership with Andrew Best, and Keppler is friends with Best but his side hustle is in the way. This partnership’s been a little secretive and I . . . didn’t expect to run into you during negotiations.”

  This was Mangella feeling him out. It sounded like an apology, but it was anything but. The truth was Taft had first learned of Seth Keppler’s extracurricular activities through one of his other clients. A man whose daughter had gotten mixed up with drugs and wanted someone like Taft to dig up the details because he didn’t trust the police. There had been rumors for years that drugs had infiltrated River Glen High School and the community at large, but it wasn’t until the daughter went to college that her habit was uncovered . . . and a friend of hers overdosed and died.

  Taft had taken the job and begun following Seth. The guy was a playboy of sorts, playing one woman off another, taking up with Rayne and then ending up with Patti, who seemed to be clamped onto him in a way other women hadn’t managed. Or, maybe she was just Keppler’s way to prove his legitimacy. Mangella was acting like Keppler was a stranger to him, but Taft had information that said otherwise.

  “Better drink some of that. It’s too expensive to waste.” Mangella smiled.

  Taft took a swallow. He needed the man to think he was able to turn a blind eye. “Laughlin isn’t interested in Seth Keppler any longer.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want her to get in the way.”

  “In the way of what?” asked Taft lightly.

  “Anything.” He smiled. “She seems like a nice girl.”

  Was that a threat? Mangella wasn’t being totally honest, but then when had he ever? Taft set the half-filled glass down carefully on a side table. If Mangella was into the drug business, he was going to personally take him down.

  Mangella relaxed a bit. “I’ve always liked that you’re a straight shooter, Taft. We work well together.”

  “We have,” he agreed.

  “Laughlin is off base with whatever she thinks Keppler’s done. Maybe you can tell her. He wouldn’t harm this Engstrom woman . . . or the selfie taker.”

  “Rayne Sealy.”

  He grunted an assent. “Just get the ex-cop to move on.”

  “She has,” said Taft. But I haven’t. If Seth Keppler was distributing a powerful opiod like fentanyl, Taft was going to take him down. And Mangella, too, if it came to that.

  Mangella tried to fill his glass with more brandy and Taft spent a few minutes dancing around the issue before he could take his leave. Once he was finally free of Mangella and back in his Rubicon, he breathed easier. His face set. Part of him felt like he’d lost a friend, but another part knew he’d never really had one. Mangella had been a source of income, nothing more.

  And now he’d crossed that hard line.

  He pulled into his parking spot under the carport and walked through a misting rain to his front door, unlocked his condo, and stepped inside. Swiping the rain from his hair he saw Helene standing near the kitchen bar.

  You can’t blame everyone for what happened to me.

  “I only blame the ones that matter,” Taft said aloud.

  It was my fault, too.

  “I don’t c
are,” Taft said, angry, knowing he was talking to himself, aware in a way that this was his Great White Whale, unwilling to let it go.

  Don’t make it a crusade, the vision warned.

  “Too late,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Mac’s stepsister leaned her head against her husband’s chest, closed her eyes, and said, “Mmmm,” as she chewed a bite of one of River Glen Grill’s classic appetizers, grilled artichokes with their own take on hollandaise. Nolan laughed and set down his fork as he was unable to lift the utensil to his lips.

  “You know, food tastes really good,” Stephanie said. Her brown hair was swept up into a bun and tiny diamond studs winked at her ears. She seemed to have a smile on her face at all times.

  “All food?” Mac asked.

  “All food,” she agreed. “I’m going to be a blimp if I don’t watch it.”

  Mac looked at her stepsister’s still-svelte figure. “Yeah, sure,” she said dryly and Nolan laughed.

  The three of them were on an impromptu dinner date. Mac had gotten back to their house to find Stephanie and Nolan in a flurry to meet their reservation time and they insisted she go with them, though she’d tried to demur. Now she was glad she’d come. It was nice to see how happy they were. All three of them had rushed out, so Mac was still in her blue shirt and jeans. She’d spent the day trying to get more information on Bibi’s death, which was still not declared whether it was a homicide or suicide. The evidence collected at the site precluded an accident. Mac didn’t for one second believe it was suicide, but she wasn’t about to throw out her theories when she was trying to wheedle information from the police department.

  Stephanie and Nolan were a little more dressed up. Nolan had changed into pressed chinos and a white shirt and Stephanie was in a loosely fitting blue jersey dress, which, though she wasn’t showing, was one she’d specifically pulled from the back of her closet to have front and center.

  They’d been bustled in to their table as they were ten minutes late, and had ordered in a hurry. Now they were relaxing a bit and Mac was sipping on vodka, cranberry juice, and seltzer.

  She hadn’t heard from Taft since that last conversation. It had been kind of disconcerting, the way he’d acted like the job was over and he was done working with her. Had her meeting with Patti and Seth bothered him more than he let on? Maybe he’d been against it. He’d shut down on Seth as if he didn’t even want to talk about him anymore.

  And what did you accomplish anyway?

  She was beating herself up over her ruse at Good Livin’. She was no detective. She wasn’t even a cop any longer.

  “I’m going to hit the restroom,” she said, scooting back her chair. Nolan and Stephanie were teasing each other and generally looking lovingly into each other’s eyes. Nice as it was, it was getting on Mac’s nerves.

  She cruised by the bar on her way to the ladies’ room and saw a woman seated with her back to her. Something about her was familiar, so she slowed her steps, seeking to get a look. She could almost see past her to her companion, and when she finally got a clear look at his face, she received a distinct shock. Troi with an i Bevins. His long hair was combed and slicked back from his head. There was a diamond stud in his ear. His head was slightly turned and she could make out a tattoo behind his ear, maybe. But the man was definitely Troi. And the woman . . . ?

  Mackenzie was trying not to stare and gain Troi’s attention. Then the woman laughed, a bit sarcastically. She’d heard that voice somewhere recently. With the long dark hair and skin-tight jeans that left a spare tire of flesh at the waist beneath a carmine tunic . . . She turned at that moment and Mac got a profile shot. The streak of bleached blond hair curving in at her chin . . . Elise! Rayne’s sister. With Troi Bevins.

  Well, that was interesting. Mac continued to the bathroom, but hurried through her ablutions so she could see them again on her way out. They were still seated in place, but now Elise had scooched to the edge of her seat and Troi’s hand was on the small of her back, definitely edging lower.

  She debated approaching Elise. It could be an opportunity to meet Troi, who was suspected of being one of Rayne’s boyfriends. Was Troi, then, the boyfriend that Sharon Sealy said Rayne had supposedly stolen from Elise? Elise had denigrated Troi in their conversation the night Mac interviewed her and her mother, but maybe that was why.

  As she was dithering what to do, Troi suddenly gave Elise’s rear a little love pat and got to his feet. He whispered something in her ear as he headed Mac’s way. She realized he was coming to the restroom area and she whipped out her phone and pretended to be lost in it.

  “You’ll get little frown lines if you’re not careful,” he said to her as he breezed by. Mackenzie looked up to see him smiling back at her a bit drunkenly. His head was cocked and she could clearly see the tattoo image was of a key.

  “I’ll remember that,” she said, purposely clearing her brow.

  He winked at her and kept going. She would have said he was strutting if he hadn’t stumbled a bit. Rayne clearly went for a type, or maybe they went for her.

  Mackenzie took the opportunity to cruise by Elise, who was once again wearing an abundance of makeup but her face was lit up, radiant even. Mac pretended to look over at an empty bar seat and then focused on Elise. She lifted her brows as if she’d just recognized her. “Hi . . . Elise, isn’t it? Rayne’s sister?”

  “Oh! God . . . yes . . .” Elise blinked a few times. “You’re the one who was asking about Rayne, Bibi’s friend.” Hearing her own sour tone, her eyes widened and she added, aghast, “Isn’t it terrible how they both died? You knew that, right. You must have heard. It’s terrible!”

  The anguish in her voice sounded real enough, so Mac went with it. “Terrible,” she agreed.

  “I know. Well, and I guess you know, I was so mad at Rayne. But now she’s gone . . . and then Bibi.” She shuddered. “Her husband must’ve done it. They were fighting so much and she was so dramatic and I just thought . . . I don’t know. He probably did it.”

  “Or, it was suicide,” Mac tried out on her.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. Are you still investigating for her? No? Right . . . ? Now that they’re both gone?”

  “I guess not.”

  Mac saw Troi returning. He seemed to be looking around the room, as if checking out the scene. There were a number of young women in groups and his eye caressed one blond woman who was just meeting a group, bending over to air-kiss her friends, her rounded bottom almost close enough for Troi to touch. For a minute Mac thought he was actually going to do it, reach out and touch her, and she braced herself for the affront and confrontation. But it didn’t happen. Troi kept his hand to himself and headed Elise’s way. Seeing Mac there he looked slightly alarmed. “Well, hey,” he said.

  “Hi. Oh, you’re together?” Mac asked, feigning surprise.

  “You know Troi,” said Elise.

  “Well, no—” Mac started, but Troi interrupted.

  “We just saw each other over there.” He waved in the direction of the restrooms.

  “I’m Mackenzie,” Mac said, taking control.

  “Hey,” he greeted her again, lifting his chin. “Troi. So, you and Elise know each other?”

  “She’s the one I told you about who was looking into Rayne’s disappearance,” put in Elise. “That’s when we didn’t know what had happened to her.”

  “Oh.” Troi gave Mackenzie a worried look.

  “It was a tragedy,” said Mackenzie.

  “Yeah . . . Rayne . . . yeah . . .”

  Elise swallowed and it looked like she wanted to say something but was forcing herself not to.

  Mac pressed, “Elise said you dated Rayne.”

  “Oh, well . . . yeah . . . a little . . . she worked at that nursing home . . .”

  “Ridge Pointe,” Elise bit out, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Before Good Livin’ and before the Coffee Club. Rayne changed boyfriends and jobs at the same rate . . . fast.”


  So much for grief over her sister’s death.

  “Yeah . . .” Troi shot Elise an uncertain look.

  “And now you two are together?” Mac asked lightly, pointing back and forth between them.

  “We dated in the past.” Elise’s voice was brittle.

  “Oh.” Mac looked to Troi.

  “And we’re dating again,” he said a big goofily. It was a move made to jolly Elise out of her mood, one Mac suspected he used quite a bit. Troi just seemed like that kind of guy.

  Elise was looking away, glaring into the middle distance. Maybe she was recalling how it felt when her sister had stolen her boyfriend.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Mac said to Troi, who answered, “Same,” as Mac headed back to her table.

  “We almost sent the search squad out for you,” Stephanie said when Mac returned.

  “Just ran into some people I know.”

  “That’s River Glen for you. You can’t go anywhere without bumping into someone you know,” said Nolan.

  “You’re not even from here,” said Stephanie to her tall, dark-haired husband, giving him an elbow poke.

  “No, but you are.”

  Mackenzie had finished most of her meal before she’d gone to the restroom and now left the rest on her plate. Stephanie got a doggy bag for herself and Nolan, and they headed back to their house.

  Once they were home, Mackenzie waited for a chance to talk to Nolan alone. “You worked for Best Homes before Laidlaw.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you know a guy called Troi Bevins?”

  Nolan slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “He’s someone I’ve run across in the course of some investigative work I’m doing. What about Seth Keppler?”

  “Well . . . yeah. Seth worked off and on for Best.” He spread his hands. “Andrew put up with him. God knew why.”

  “Andrew Best?”

  Nolan nodded. “Andrew went hunting with Seth a few times together, so maybe that was it, but Seth was a slacker at work. They had a couple falling-outs. Seth left to work at a health club.”